


They're Not Sick but They're Not Well

by Eureka234



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Awkward Sexual Situations, Brothels, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, One Shot, POV Alternating, Partying, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 19:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11297445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: Samson wants to invite a prostitute over to his shared flat, and Cullen thinks this is a terrible idea. Modern AU one shot.





	They're Not Sick but They're Not Well

**Author's Note:**

> This is a modern AU written in the "style" of the UK series Peep Show. If anyone is familiar with that series, Mark is a little like Cullen and Jez is similar to my interpretation of Samson. The show alternates between the two main characters and has a lot of voice over to represent their thoughts, so I have done that here. I thought 'Peep Show style' was a perfect way to put DA characters in the modern world. 
> 
> The title is based off a lyric from the Peep Show theme song "Flagpole Sitta" by Harvey Danger. 
> 
> My original characters are from my DA2 stories, mostly revolving around Samson. Please consider checking them out if you like this. 
> 
> Many thanks to Schattenriss for the beta.

_I'm not sick but I'm not well_  
_And I'm so hot cause I'm in hell_  
_Been around the world and found_  
_That only stupid people are breeding_  
_The cretins cloning and feeding_  
_And I don't even own a tv_  
_Put me in the hospital for nerves_  
_And then they had to commit me_  
_You told them all I was crazy_  
_They cut off my legs now I'm an amputee, god damn you_

\- Flagpole Sitta, Harvey Danger

 

 _Stop staring, Cullen._ Samson pushed down the button for the electric kettle. _I only need to say something foul enough that you will turn away. You’ll no longer be able to stand lookin’ at me._

His flatmate Cullen was from a well-off family of government executives, and while he dressed the part, he didn’t act it… most of the time. Yes, he liked to gel his blond hair, and took pride in wearing a patterned button-up shirt every day, though he wasn’t the type to be discriminative towards those who had less funds. However, he was easily offended by material easily found in the filthy internet void, so that made him a lot of fun to annoy. He was the best variety of privileged, rich bloke.  

Samson asked, “Have you ever been given a swirlie?”

The confusion on Cullen’s face was priceless. “A what?”

“Getting your head flushed down a toilet.”

“Down the toilet?” Cullen looked astounded. “Why on earth would I have?”

 _Because you’re a posh bastard,_ Samson thought, but went with, “Why not?”

“No,” Cullen pressed, his stare boring into Samson’s, “Tell me why you’re asking.”

Samson twirled a finger on the kitchen bench top, leaving a greasy finger mark in its place, while imitating a toilet flushing. The rising bubbles of the kettle added to the sound effect. When it came to Cullen, if Samson was given the choice between assertiveness and humiliating his friend, humiliation would usually win. “In school if blokes -or girls, I guess- don’t like you they put your head where it belongs,” Samson said, “or if, say, they really like you they’d get off to it.”

Cullen cringed and looked away. “Why do you discuss such atrocities? I thought _in_ the toilet was enough, let alone flushing it. Please tell me it’s with clean water.”

“Depends,” Samson said with a smirk.

“That’s enough.”

The electric kettle made its clicking noise as Samson lifted it, and the homely scent of Nescafe gold instant coffee filled the flat.

He took the smallest teaspoon available from the drawer and slowly scooped five sugars inside.

Cullen scrutinized him with crossed arms, fitting the epitome of cynical manager. “Really? Have you finished?” he demanded, snatching the sugar jar off Samson. “I would like some as well, thank you.”

“You don’t even drink coffee,” Samson retorted.

“Excuse you,” Cullen said, “I do. I merely prefer tea.”

“Sure,” Samson said, “like how you only wank when you’re sure the music is turned up loud enough. That’s how ashamed you are to drink coffee.”

Cullen blushed. “I-If anyone is guilty of that crime, it is you.”

“Well, no,” Samson said, “I don’t care if there’s music on or not.”

Cullen started singing, which was his usual default coping mechanism for Samson’s many truths. “ _And the hills are alive with the sound of music_.”

“With the sound of your hands on-”

“ _With songs they have sung for a thousand - LALALALLALALA._ ”

_Good. Keep looking away, judgemental prick._

The two had been flatmates for the past two years, although they’d been friends for longer. They met while socializing after Church. As children their parents discussed current affairs and which shower curtains to buy while Samson and Cullen stood near the table with catered sandwiches, trying to avoid conversing with older women in perfumed cardigans, or girls who gossiped about how long their eyelashes were. One day, they decided speaking to another person was probably more fun than munching on sandwiches. It turned out the risk was worth it.

Despite being near polar opposites in personality, they often found themselves in close proximity to each other. After the Church days, they’d shared classes in secondary education, met for weekly drinks with friends, once braved shared accommodation with three other flatmates and lost contact for half a decade when they left that house. The fact Samson abandoned the Church and his parents as a teenager separated them further, only to pursue strange cults no one had heard of, and seemingly a different religion every six months. Once, Cullen asked Samson if one of these was Scientology, which Samson denied. The final comment on the subject was from Cullen who remarked, ‘You know an awful lot about Scientology for someone who has never approached them.’  

Samson received a phone call from Cullen six years after their first share house experience and confessed he liked Samson the most of the other flatmates because he didn’t shower at seven in the morning (which was Cullen’s preferred time to shower). Samson liked that Cullen didn’t steal his alcohol or two minute noodles. Without further ado, they found their own flat. Whether this was a healthy attachment of genuine liking or a dysfunctional one of co-dependence was anyone’s guess. Perhaps there were elements of both.

Cullen retreated to do some laundry and didn’t reappear until Samson had showered and was prepared for work. This meant he was dressed in all black except for the fluro blue pattern across his shirt, and his now damp hair was combed back.  

“Hey, brother,” Samson said, picking up his backpack and checking all his valuables were in there, “Keep forgettin’ to say– do you think it’s okay to invite a whore into an apartment?”

Cullen was wiping coffee stains off the kitchen bench. “That depends on a great number of variables, Samson. Do you mean a ‘whore’ as in promiscuous, or a prostitute?”

“The second one.”

“I see. Are you speaking hypothetically?”  
“No.”

“About a friend?”

“Myself. I’m not the whore though.”

“For God’s sake,” Cullen said with a heavy sigh, “Do you really visit brothels? They look tacky and unprofessional… and I am attempting to be complimentary.”

“I go,” Samson said, “The pop up ones. I thought everyone did.”

“You’re not wrong, Samson,” Cullen said, “Everyone who cannot woo a woman by natural means goes there.”

“What’s the natural means?” Samson inquired, “Nothing more natural than just taking your fucking clothes off.”

“I can’t believe- do I really have to say it?”

  
“Say what?”

“Conversation. There’s something called conversation,” Cullen said, “I feel sorry for you if you have not heard of it.”

Samson snorted. These jokes were almost a daily occurrence. “Not much point of that, is there?”

Cullen sighed. “I suppose not if all you want to do is take clothes off.”

“Exactly,” Samson straightened up and checked the contents of his backpack. “Right, so there’s a whore I like a lot. Do you think I can invite her around?”

“I hope you don’t mean to _our_ flat.”

“No, the public toilet,” Samson answered, with sarcasm.

“What is wrong with seeing her at work?” Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Costs money.”

“I’m sure she’ll respond well to that, Samson,” Cullen said, “I dare you to explain the real reason of why you’re inviting her – is that you’re too cheap to pay her.”

“A dare, eh?” Samson grinned. “What do I get in return?”

“I don’t know yet,” Cullen said, “you do not get to choose. Not to mention there must be rules around the professionalism of a whore seeing a patient-”

“ _Patient_ ,” Samson scoffed, “I’m not sick.”

“Yes, you are,” Cullen said, “Patient is the appropriate term. Anyway, I pray you enjoy receiving a kick in the groin for being… you.”

“Hey, it’s better than paying her to kick me in the groin.”

“You must be late for work,” Cullen cut across him, “Look at the time. You’re an hour late.”

Samson looked at the clock on the wall and on his phone to make sure that there was definitely not an hour difference. There wasn’t. “Goodnight, prude.”

“Please don’t die out there.”

* * *

 _He never keeps this flat clean_ , Cullen thought disgruntled, taking empty packets of Doritos and a half eaten salsa that had attracted the attention of ants from the table in front of the television and into the sink. The flat was minuscule but modern, with dark grey carpet and a limited number of rooms. It was definitely not the place for sleepovers.

_I would have thought that over time he would have learned to be cleaner. Perhaps I need to bribe him with extra food… and then he’d probably make more mess. Why does that not surprise me? He is wrong about many things. I am not that much of a prude…_

Trying to relax, Cullen turned on the television and flicked through the same channels of garbage that he didn’t care about. If only the phone company would fix their internet they’d have a wider selection of choices.

 _Am I truly going to let Samson’s words get to me?_ He wondered, _of course not, I am an adult. I am more of an adult than he is. I have emotional maturity. Samson has the emotional maturity of a pigeon, or worse. Please take your time to unwind the normal, adult way, in front of the box, not removing your clothes and…_

He clicked the remote a couple of times, and realized that sitting in front of the television wasn’t what he wanted.

 _You could go to bed early,_ he thought, _or maybe read a book. No… should I explore the red light district after all?_

He stood.

_It is just a walk, Cullen. Only a walk. You have a look around and head home. Glance into the windows like you usually do. The walk will help me calm down._

Cullen watched the cream walls turn to dark blue as he turned off the lights, opened the front door to the apartment, and stepped out.

* * *

The Blue Mountain Club was covered in vibrant blue paint and street art. The name sounded like it might be a senior’s chess club. On the contrary, it was a well-respected piece of Bristol’s night life. At least, in this part of Bristol which Samson did not find exciting.  From outside, it looked much more like a youth community center, a place Samson had a mix of pleasant and awful memories. 

Samson relaxed after the worst of the crowds had been dealt with. To his delight, and horror, his crush showed up. She had her usual mascara on that emphasized her sparkling green eyes. Her brown hair was partially braided. She had dolphin earrings and a short blue dress to match. Her best friend, Phillipa, had threaded a silver ribbon through her hair and was wearing a black dress. She’d put gold glitter over her eyelids and cheekbones.

“You look like Christmas,” Samson blurted out. Then he wondered why The Powers that Be gave him a voice.

Zoe laughed. “Christmas. Um, really?”

“Kind of.”

“I can’t say that was the look I was going for. I wanted to look like the dancing reflections of the water at an aquarium.”

“What part of her reminds you of Christmas?” Phillipa inquired.

_Shit, good point. What did?_

“Er, the green and red. I mean the green and blue,” Samson said, “Look, forget it.”

_She’s not wearing green and red. Your analogy is rubbish. Pretend it was a joke… Or just act strong and silent for a few hours and she’ll forget all about it._

“Right,” Zoe said slowly, and she took out her ID, “Can we get in please?”

Samson tried to ignore how hot his face felt as he tried to meet Zoe’s eye, but she was looking at the sign on another wall. The desire to grab her attention remained like a virus. “My flatmate wanted to know why I can’t succeed with having conversations with girls. He says that’s the natural thing to do. I reckon it’s a waste of time.”

“Do you?” Phillipa asked, as Samson checked her ID too. As expected, nothing about their IDs looked falsified.

“Yeah, I mean what’s the point?”

“Why is it a waste?” Zoe looked at him again.

_She looks angry. Stop talking._

“It’s kind of like how Christmas is all commercialized. That makes it a waste of money. It’s all a lie society tells us, we need to buy a ton of expensive, useless crap to be happy.”

“Um… yeah.” Zoe went blank.

“Conversations are the same. It’s all some stupid set of rules that society tells us, like how we need to be able to talk and sound important to succeed in life.”

“Well, we do need to be able to talk to… do just about everything,” Zoe said slowly.

“Yeah but only because science hasn’t figured out how we can read minds yet,” Samson rambled, “anyway I wanted to say you’re like Christmas because the… wrong colours reminded me of it. But it’s a good thing. I like Christmas.”

“You just said it was a money sucking waste of time,” Zoe said sternly.

“Oh, it is. But Christmas decorations are pretty.”

_Someone please knock me out and tell me it was all a dream when I open my eyes._

“Enjoy your night, Samson,” Phillipa said with a wave, “Say goodnight, Zoe.”

“Sure,” Zoe said and she smiled briefly. Once she had reached the door she moved to the side to speak to him, “You’re like a star at the top of a Christmas tree. It looks pretty, and you suspect it’s going to be made of gold, but it’s just hollow and a cheap piece of rubbish.”

“Thank you,” Samson said with a grin. He had been called a star, and no matter the reason, that was still an improvement over being called tinsel. That shit was horrible.

Zoe gave him a pitiful smile and slipped into the queue to enter the venue.

Samson sniffed through his nose. “Nail Jebus to the cross.”

 _I need coke._

* * *

 Redland was not an impressive suburb in Bristol, although it had the upside of being in walking distance to some shops… meaning the pop up brothels were hidden amongst it. Cullen approached the red light district and kept his gaze away from anyone who was trying to sell him anything, even if it was something he might have needed like bleach or hand sanitizer. He went to one end of the street, as if that contained all the world’s riches.

_You’re only scouting. There is nothing wrong with going from one end of the street to the other. Appear relaxed. Be a man, like Samson would say. Be a real man. Go to the red light district. Pay for a service. But I don’t think I want to remove my trousers. God help me. Who wants to look at my penis? I suspect nobody will. I think even if I paid the poor women they would smile politely and say ‘Don’t worry. It’s fine’. Though I don’t think it is that simple. Life is never that simple. Assessing a penis is not as simple as ‘it’s fine’, or even ‘oh my.’ Everyone judges appearances, at least at first. Penises are the same. I will not pass their scrutiny. I dare not try._

It took fifteen minutes of this. When Cullen had walked past the pop brothel another two times, debating whether he should back track and do some late night shopping, he approached the door. 

* * *

  _I’m so sick of this local band. Make your money somewhere else…_

Humming to offset the noise inside the club, Samson continued bouncer duty and had a big mental conflict with himself about whether he should try to keep Zoe in sight the whole time or not. Would it make him look like a stalker, or someone looking out for her wellbeing, given he was being paid to look out for trouble anyway?

Secretly, he hoped some sleazeball would hit on her, and he could come to her rescue. Or maybe he could clone himself, and then beat up his clone. Sadly, he was occupied keeping watch on other patrons, but he frequently checked that she was still around. She technically couldn’t dance much better than the odd shuffle and laugh, with a drink in her hand, though Samson thought she had more talent than any of the trifles on _So You Think You Can Dance?_.

It was going to be fine. He just had to put up with this embarrassment until his dinner break. Then he could visit Faith, have amazing sex and forget he would ever need to sustain himself again. 

* * *

 Faith was thankfully available at the pop up brothel, looking sexy as ever under the overly bright LED lights.

Her blue eyes were gorgeous. With her tanned skin and dark hair, he assumed her family may be from another country, although he didn't want to guess where unless he got it wrong. Her accent and slang implied she'd at least grown up in Bristol or the UK. 

They didn’t say anything until they entered a room, which had slightly a less offensive LED light. The rental space was small, with eight rooms, and the walls were useless to keep out sound, though that didn’t bother Samson. The scent of clean sheets and light perfume made up for it, and sometimes one could hear the hint of something hilarious being said in the name of sex. The furniture and bed covers were an unmistakable IKEA brand, though it was comforting. Samson felt like he was at his previous share house, trying to put together a table while high. It had been a detaching, floaty kind of experience.

“Shit, help me,” he said.

“Are the sniffles causing you trouble again?” Faith asked. She was supposedly 35, but Samson suspected it was a lie. Maybe she was really twenty eight and looked mature for her age. She was prepped up in the dress code of the brothel, a light pink and black dress, because they were too frugal to brand their own uniforms. It was classy, modest dress and if she walked down the street in it one might think her line of work was for a hotel reception desk or a manager of a call center.

“Always,” Samson said. “I missed you.”

Faith looked away from him for a moment. “Uh huh. What would you like?”

“Another brain,” Samson replied. They sat down on the side of the bed. “Ideally, I want a bloke to send conversation frequencies into my head from another country - like radio for our minds over blu tooth or something.  Someone _really_ clever, not some wanker, troll from Switzerland. Then I can think of the perfect words to say so I can seduce the girl I like.”

“Which girl?” Faith asked.

“Zoe. She works at the _Starbucks_ on Whiteladies road, but I know her from afternoon classes at university. We’re both studying international security.”

“How quaint,” Faith answered. She seemed grumpy.

“I swear my own mind is cock-blocking me,” Samson said, “I want it to piss off.”

Faith kissed him and brought her hands down to his thighs. “Have you ever thought that perhaps you’re chasing the wrong girl?”

“I don’t think I’m chasing girls,” Samson said, “more like flailing.”

Faith laughed. “There’s another word for that.”

Samson unzipped his fly and Faith put her hand underneath it. “Nah, I flail from a distance. Damn, it would be great if I could kiss her. Fucking wouldn’t be… _enough_. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

Faith shook her head and kissed him. They unclothed their bottom halves and did something Faith was apparently not supposed to do for the amount Samson had paid for, but she said she didn’t mind. Samson wasn’t going to complain, and Faith kept an eye on the clock for him.

“Hey,” Samson said, as he was putting his clothes back on. “Do you have rules about whether your patients can see you outside of this joint?”

Faith smirked at the notion of ‘patient’. “If I was going to, their business relationship with me would cease. Why do you ask?”

“I was dared to say it’s because I’d rather fuck you for free,” Samson said with a shrug, “but that’s not really it. You’re my friend. I… I like your company. So I want more of it.”

“I want more of your company too,” Faith said, beaming. She appeared as though she wanted to say something else, but stopped herself.  

“In that case, would you like to come to my flat?” Samson said, “You can drop by my work when you leave here. I can walk you.”

Faith gave a small smile. “What about Little Miss Zoe?”

“Maybe you can talk me up and impress her for me?” Samson requested.

“I don’t need to talk you up to do that,” Faith said with a knowing look.

“That’s kind of you. So you’ll help?”

“As much as I can,” Faith said, “she sounds like a bitch though. I maintain that you are flailing near the wrong girls.”

Samson laughed. “How do I know which one’s the right girl?”

“A fair question,” Faith admitted, and she ran her fingers through his hair, “If I knew how to choose the right man, perhaps I could tell you the secret.”   

* * *

 Cullen looked around the pop up brothel, and hoped it wasn’t the same one Samson went to.

_This certainly looks a lot less tacky inside than it does on the outside, like a sex shop. Oh God I’m in a human sex shop. I’m feeding into the future of the business. Soon it will be the future when we’re all going to buy cyborgs for our own filthy desires. Well, I suppose then at least the girls will be set free. Or is that bad? Maybe I can help pay a girl’s rent or her bills. What do I want to buy?_

Timidly, he approached reception. Many other men and a few women were picking up business cards and pamphlets nearby. An Asian woman was sitting patiently behind the counter (with what Cullen thought was Pokemon Go! flashing on her Iphone screen), “Good evening. Can I help you?”

_My Lord, she’s lovely. I bet I can’t pay to see her though. Damn._

“Hello, could I see one of the girls please?”

“Did you have a preference, sir?”

“Err, I’m afraid not. I apologize. That’s probably not helpful.”

“We have Millie free at the moment. She’s new.”

 _Which one? I don’t know_. _A nice one, please._ “If Millie is nice, then that’s wonderful.”

_What am I supposed to do to be polite? ‘Hello, you look lovely.’ Is that too objectifying?_

“Excellent. Is this your first time here?”

“Y-Yes. Sorry.”

The woman pushed a clipboard towards him. “Please fill this out. Medical history is incredibly important. If you have any urgent concerns we will reschedule for another time.”

“I, uh, I have private health insurance. The last time I went to the doctor was for the flu a month ago.”

“The information we need to know will be on the form.” The receptionist stepped out of her seat with a hard look at the clipboard. “I’ll let Millie know you’re interested. Take a seat anywhere you like.”

Feeling awkward, Cullen merely stepped to the left and used the reception desk to fill out the form. He was confused to see the wallpaper of a Asian boy band on the woman’s phone as it turned to the screensaver. A generic radio station was playing over some speakers, now blaring an ad for barbeque equipment.

 _It would be luxurious to have a proper outdoor grill,_ Cullen thought, as he picked out his driver’s licence from his wallet to prove his identity, _but no the landlord doesn’t want the authorities to think there are fires going off in the garden._ _Idiot._ _Jesus, all these questions make me feel like I’m at the dentist._

Whatever dentist vibe the brothel had was remedied when Millie arrived. She stood chatting to the receptionist about the football match that they were apparently missing at that very moment. Cullen couldn’t help feeling perturbed when Millie looked over his paperwork. She was blonde, with lace stockings, garter belt and a white dress. There was a false, unsettling image of innocence about the way she had dressed up and smiled. She had light pink and lilac tones to her make up, and false eyelashes. Yet, behind those brown eyes he knew he was speaking to someone who passionately kept track of the football.

“This is looking good,” she said, giving a quick jab to the clipboard. “I’m Millie. How would you prefer to be addressed, Cullen?”

He said Cullen was fine, and suddenly felt like a creepy stalker for no reason at all. The feeling only intensified as he was led to a room, so he decided to voice his concerns. “I was agitated at the thought of coming here. Do you think it reflects poorly on my masculinity to be here? Or does it promote it?”

“I don’t think it says anything about your masculinity,” the woman said, “how you treat us says a lot more about whether you’re a man or not. I don’t give a toss about what you do with your time, so long as you’re nice.”

Cullen chuckled nervously, “Of course,” and then when they’d progressed to one of the rooms, “I mean I didn’t think people went to these anymore. Maybe in the Middle Ages but we’re well past that by now, aren’t we? I thought society would have gotten over its perversions.”

“No. If it had, sex wouldn’t be all over the music channels.” The woman entered the room. “What do you want? How much do you want to spend, that might help?”

“I suppose I…” Cullen sighed, “A hand job might be fine.”

The door closed.

“ _Might be fine?_ I’d like it to be great.”

“I….” _Can I tell her I’m worried about my appearance?_   “I’m rather conservative. I hope you won’t judge me for… how I look.”

“Size?” the woman laughed, “Judging’s not what I get paid to do, honey.”

“Still, women care about that, don’t they?”

_She’s judging me already. I can see it. She’s probably forty and I’d have no idea- not that age matters- but what if she was forty? God, why did I come here?_

Millie ran a hand over his thighs. “Some don’t care. Smaller ones don’t do it for me, but you’re not here to please me. Don't worry.”

_God is probably punishing me because I went to a brothel. Thanks for the assistance with my self-image, God! I won’t call you a bastard but know that there is anger inside me._

“I don’t know if it is small,” Cullen said uneasily, “I can’t say I’ve compared mine to anyone else’s, besides maybe in pornography, but it is hard to tell the proportions on a screen. Do you know what I mean?”

Millie seemed impatient. “Sorry if this is too forward, but do you want to just talk? There's a separate fee for that.”

“NO. I most definitely do not want to just talk,” Cullen said, “Never mind what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter. You can grab it and make me forget about my incessant thinking.”

Millie did just that, with a grin on her face. Cullen yelped, and felt embarrassed for half a minute more before laughing about it, because he was being a bit stupid about the entire thing. 

* * *

 “ _My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies_ _from a church on a breeze_ …” Samson mumbled, in sharp contrast to the remix playing. _Fuck you, Cullen. I hate this song even more than the one that’s playing right now._

So far he’d thrown out a moron who’d glassed one of his mates, two guys who had been badgering a lady for her phone number despite her saying no for half an hour, and a woman who’d been sneaking into the gents bathrooms to have sex with what Samson hoped was her partner. In all honesty, he had no idea. He remained hopeful that it wasn’t the worst case scenario every time, since that appeared to be the luck of those out for a night partying. A palm reached in front of his eyes, and he snapped out of his stupor. Zoe had walked up to him, a bottle of corona in one hand, and was hovering her other palm above his head. “Where are the twinkles?”

“Huh?” Samson said.

“The shininess!” Zoe said “because you are a star. _Twinkle twinkle little star_.”

She did something between a giggle and a sob, hunching over slightly. The alcohol had definitely put a childlike laziness in her posture.

_Just shut up. Faith will help you with this later._

Samson gave an awkward chuckle, too afraid to say anything. “Where is Phillipa?”

“She left me alone,” Zoe moaned, “she tried to drink as much as me and got sick. Her parents just picked her up and drove her home. I said I didn't need a lift because I didn't want them to complain that I was a bad influence in the car. That was dumb, wasn't it? No. Don't tell me. I know it was. Now I don’t have a way home.”

Samson took a deep breath. “You are so attractive to me you could say dropping a lit cigarette into petrol would make me reach enlightenment and I would think you were the smartest woman alive.”

“Wow.” Zoe chuckled. “That's such a stupid thing to say.”

She doubled over laughing and almost dropped her drink.

“My brain is stupid. I ain't.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them is easier to control.”

“You don’t think therefore you are?”

“What?”

“ _I think therefore I am_ ,” Zoe corrected, “That doesn't suit you.”

“No. My thoughts and me are different.”

“Which one embarrasses you more in front of me?”

Samson thought it was time to change the subject. “You can’t catch a cab home?”

“I only took enough cash out for drinks. I had organized to get a lift from my brother later on, but now I can’t ask him.”

“Why not?”

“My phone went dead. I feel bad for forcing too many drinks on Phillipa. He’ll want to know where she went,” Zoe said with a sigh. “So tell me. Are your thoughts or yourself more embarrassing?”

Samson didn’t know the difference, and he suspected Zoe didn’t know either; she was just spewing rubbish out of her mouth. It wasn’t the best talk to have at work, though where else were they going to have it? Most of the times they saw each other was at their respective workplaces.

“I don't know,” he admitted slowly, “but be grateful you don't know what I think of you.”

“Why not? Do you make less sense the deeper I look?”

To force himself not to reply, Samson pressed his teeth harder together.  

Zoe raised her eyebrows at him and smiled. Then she sipped her drink. “I take that as a yes, unless… you have secrets. I might have to break down your awkward exterior. Are you going to force me? Because I’m not going away now.”

Samson wasn’t sure whether her comment was out of sarcasm or being flirtatious, so said nothing. He scanned the crowd. He couldn’t get distracted talking to Zoe for too long or his work mates might assume he was struggling to resolve a problem. That would be an issue, because his colleagues would say to Zoe, ‘Leave him alone, love, to do his job.’. He didn’t want her to leave.

“I will share a truth if you do,” she said.

“Like a game?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Truth number one,” Zoe began, “I hate this beer. I like beer but not this one.”

Samson waited a moment to scan the crowd, to look like he was working. “I hate that I can't drink on the job.”

“Your Christmas comment made no sense – at the door. Remember?”

“Eh. It was _supposed_ to make sense,” he said. It didn’t look like there was any immediate trouble so he stepped to Zoe’s other side, to look like he was doing something. “Here, I’ll try again. You are like presents under the Christmas tree. You’re the only thing I look forward to.” _Opening_ , he finished in his head, and he couldn’t decide if it was a euphemism or romance gone mental.

“About Christmas?”

“About my day to day routine.”

“How sweet,” Zoe said. She touched his arm with her free hand. “I like your biceps.”

They were closer now, so he said, “I like your eyes.”

Their gaze did not break.

“I like your eyes too.”

“I want to be your friend.”

There was an emphasis on the word ‘friend’ that was different to the rest of the sentence, but not deviant enough to require italics.

Zoe’s gaze still did not leave his. “I know.”

“Do you?”

A pause. Her eyes, which looked blue in the light, peered at his mouth and back to his eyes. “I want to kiss you.”

“Really?”

Later, he would reminisce about how they had escalated quickly in conversation from friend to something-else. Right now, he was too absorbed in the moment. Maybe she had interpreted his odd pronunciation of ‘friend’ the exact way it was supposed to be… or perhaps not. He wasn’t sure what it meant himself.

Zoe nodded.

“Why?”

“As hollow as you are, you are a star.”

_Meaning… that my appeal is an illusion, or something? A one-hit-wonder?_

“I don’t know what that means.”

It was not clear Zoe knew either. She was likely drunkenly blabbing, yet every drunken babble contained large elements of truth, just assorted in a jumble like a newly opened puzzle. 

 Zoe smiled in a way he’d never seen her smile before. “I have a theory that you are good in bed.”

In one of the noisiest places ever, a night club, it seemed completely silent for how clearly he heard her voice, and how easily it registered in his mind.

“I didn’t realize you thought about me like that.”

She nodded, and simply stood there, gazing at his mouth. “Maybe we should go home.”

“Err…” Samson realized that he’d invited Faith over for the night too.

_What do I do? She’s beautiful. Damn. I need coke. I shouldn’t say anything. I need to wait for Faith to get here. She’s smarter than me._

“Sure.”

_Why did I say that?_

“That sounds like fun.”

 _Is it polite to explain the situation in these circumstances? Won’t it screw up no matter what I do?_ Samson thought.

The times they had conversed previously had been brief, a challenge, but enjoyable. Besides the fortnightly university tutorial where Samson casually joined her table for discussions about policy, he had plotted a method to talk to Zoe when she was at Starbucks. He strolled in at 2:30pm, when the lunch rush was over. Without fail, he ordered a toasted banana bread with butter on it, an iced coffee with soy milk (even if he didn’t care for the stuff), less ice and more cream, then when he received his iced coffee, he took liberty of adding sprinkles so he could prolong conversation as much as possible. In their discussions, he had gathered that she was looking for somewhere to move out to with Phillipa and another friend, but was currently still living with her parents. The last he had heard, they’d almost secured a place with one house but the landlady picked another horde of students at the last minute. 

“There won’t be any trouble from anyone expecting you home?”  he asked.

“Don’t think so. I’ll text my brother and he’ll manage,” Zoe said, “do you have a charger for an Iphone 5 at your house?”

 _Fuck it. You’re too far in now._ “Yeah, think so. If not you can text him with my phone, but you’ll have to party until my shift ends.”

“I can party with you,” Zoe giggled.

Samson coughed loudly, as if doing this would somehow deflate his semi-erection, that he didn’t realize he’d developed over the conversation. “Not tonight. I mean not now. We can talk though if no one needs my help out there.”

“You can use the practice… talking,” Zoe replied.

Faith arrived in the club an hour later. He knew the exact time because he had been the checking the clock obsessively, confused about what to do about the two girls who might be going to his apartment later. She found Samson reasonably quickly. Still in her dress, covered by a long jacket, she blended in with the crowd more seamlessly than he’d expected for her line of work. “Hello. How is work?”

“Err, Zoe decided to talk to me,” Samson said, “she’s going to be coming over to my flat too now.”

Faith frowned. “Have you explained to her that you invited me as well?”

“No,” Samson replied, “She doesn’t know anything about my… habits.”

“Maybe I can tell her,” Faith said with a smile, “it is best that she knows about all your wonderful qualities.”

“Not those ones,” Samson hissed.  He was quite certain by the self-assured smile on Faith’s face was that she was joking.

“If you like her, it is important to be honest,” she said.

“We’re taking it slow, I guess.”

“By inviting her drunk to your apartment?” Faith checked, “Congratulations on such cunning deception. Will you cuddle her until she is sober?”

“I will cuddle whoever in the world I want!”

“And I will do exactly the same,” Faith said, and she opened her arms.

“I can only pat you here,” Samson said, and he patted Faith on the arm. He lifted his regard to the crowd and noticed Zoe looking at him. She appeared confused, like a puppy that kept hitting its head on a glass door, wondering why it can’t get inside the house.

_Oh shit she saw me._

 Dread filled him at the thought of how to introduce the two women, though Faith did this for him.

She said, “I stack shelves at Tesco Express. Samson gets booze from the store sometimes.”

“Is that okay? It sounds boring,” Zoe said.

Faith merely shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

They went on a cordial tangent about work history, and Samson recognized Faith’s because it had been briefly mentioned- that out of school she’d done military training and remained a reserve since.  Afterwards she held a high level job in defence but quit of her own free will because the people above her were ‘corrupted morons’.  

The atmosphere changed abruptly when Samson blurted out, “Dolphins rape people, Zoe. Did you know that?”  
Zoe looked affronted. “Is that a joke?”

“Nah. Dolphins are vicious demons of the ocean. If you were swimming, they’d pull you down under the water and rape you. Then you might drown underwater. They’re rape machines. I mean, men are terrible shits too, but dolphins… that’s another story. Be careful, Zoe. Dolphins are the real enemy.”  

Tears filled Zoe’s eyes and she touched her earrings. “How can you say that? Dolphins are such gentle creatures.”

“I’m only telling the truth,” Samson said, “It’s not a joke.”

“Are you having a go _at my earrings_?!” Zoe shouted.

“No. I think they look nice,” Samson said, “I’m just saying-“

“-Darling, dolphin rape is a myth,” Faith told Zoe, giving her a pat on the shoulder, “Look it up, Samson. You must have read that while intoxicated.”

“T-T-Thank you,” Zoe said, looking shaken by the whole conversation. She gave Faith a hug. 

* * *

“Why are you coming over, Faith?” Zoe asked, as they walked home. The Blue Mountain Club was only a twenty minute walk from Samson and Cullen’s flat. The noise of the night, and most of the drunken crowds, were thankfully well behind them by now.

“She’s a friend who is looking for somewhere to stay temporarily while she moved out of her apartment with her abusive boyfriend,” Samson invented.

“I’m so sorry!” Zoe said to Faith.  

“Yes. I have been staying in Samson’s bed,” Faith said lightly, “so you may need to use the floor.”

“The bed?” Zoe gasped.

“I get back pain if I use the sofa or if it is too cold, so it is best Samson and I stay together.”

“We can fit all three of us,” Samson said, now wondering if Faith did really have back pain or if she was making it up.  

“I… we can try,” Zoe said, “I don’t want to give you back pain, Faith. I can sleep on the sofa.”

“I don’t want you to be left alone, Zoe,” Samson said.

“I’m sure there’s room on the sofa for one more,” Zoe said.

“We shall see when we arrive,” Faith said.

“Remember my flatmate is asleep so we have to be quiet,” Samson said. 

* * *

 A crash crossed through the apartment as Zoe knocked over a broom in the kitchen.

“Shhhh!”

“Sorry!”

“Shut it.”

Samson led them to his bedroom with the light of his phone. He turned on the bedroom light once they were inside. The room had clothes scattered over the floor, a laptop on a chair, a half torn University timetable stuck underneath a stack of plates, empty mugs with coffee dregs inside were lined up on the desk. DVDs, card games, various spirits and textbooks were shoved in the corner. Fortunately, it didn’t smell of body odour, mud or semen – because Cullen had opened his window without Samson’s consent. This time he was grateful for the help. The bed had the fitted sheet come off on one of the corners.

“Oh dear what a small bed,” Faith said, which was the least of their worries. It was a single bed, but…

“We can crush each other’s bones and it will work,” Samson said.

Zoe laughed and then sounded like she would cry. She looked through his drawers next to the bed. “What kind of man are you? Oh look money.”

Like a lady presented with buckets of make up on sale, she dived in and rummaged as much together as possible.

“Put that back, Zoe,” Samson shot across her immediately.

“You’re rich,” she said awed, collecting the many notes into a pile, “How much money is this?”

Samson placed his fingers gently over her hands and pulled her hands away. “No, sweetheart.”

Faith looked down at him disdainfully, while observing the posters of metal bands he had on the walls, and postcards of places he wished he could go.

“Wow, what’s that?” Zoe said, pointing to a sealed plastic bag with white powder inside.

_Shit._

“Err, icing sugar,” Samson lied.

Zoe laughed, “Yeah, right. I’m not stupid. That’s cocaine.”

_Double shit._

“No, I’m serious, Zoe. It’s icing sugar,” Samson continued with the lie, “I have a soft spot for baking.”

“Yes, let’s try it and show Zoe it’s just icing sugar,” Faith said.

Samson glared at Faith, then returned his patient expression for Zoe, “Sure. You might not be able to taste how sweet it is because of your being drunk, Zoe.”

He pulled a smaller container out of the drawer, tipped some out in his palm and ate it. “Yum. Icing sugar.”

Zoe ate some and started laughing. “That’s the most disgusting icing sugar I’ve ever had. How would you use this in cooking?”

_Is she actually buying the story? Or is she just beyond thinking about it?_

“I can show you sometime, Zoe,” Faith assured her, with a matronly demeanour.

“Let’s not,” Samson said.

Zoe chuckled, “You two are trying to trick me. You’re idiots to think I actually believe this is icing sugar.” She started to cry. “I just wanted to have a nice night.”

_Crap. Cullen is going to wake up._

“Look at what you have done, Samson,” Faith said sourly, “Your inability to think ahead has brought you here.”

“If we’re creative, we can still enjoy the night,” Samson said, “I mean, three’s a crowd.”

Zoe cried in response, blubbering something that sounded like the essence of despair.

“He is trying to say he wants to have a threesome, Zoe,” Faith said tartly, “I am sorry to say.”

Zoe laughed. “Jesus Christ you’re serious? I am not that kind of girl.”

“Are you sure about that, Zoe?” Samson said in a serious tone, with a raise of an eyebrow.

“I’m straight. That’s one problem,” Zoe said, “and I don’t know Faith. That’s another problem.”

“You don’t know me that well either,” Samson remarked.

“I feel like I do though,” Zoe said, “You’re somewhat easy to predict… except for the icing sugar. And you know what? I don’t feel like a threesome.”

“This is a wise decision,” Faith said, “Samson can’t coordinate our sleeping arrangements. I struggle to think of how he will manage two vaginas.”

“Good point,” Zoe sniggered.

“Hey, I am straight and I’d have a threesome,” Samson said.

“Yeah, but if a boy -your flatmate- wanted to be part of It you wouldn’t do it,” Zoe argued.

“Yeah I would,” Samson said.

“What?” Zoe gasped, while Faith snorted. “How can you be straight then?”

“I’d do it for the hell of it. Fun,” Samson said. “Not like I’d get off to it. I wouldn’t bat my eyelashes at him ever – unless it was for a joke.”

“Sex is just a joke to you?” Zoe demanded, “What the fuck? I… my head hurts.”

“How could you take advantage of her drunkenness, Samson?” Faith asked him, though it was hard to say if it was rhetorical question or not.

_Fuck you, you stupid bitch. I know you think you’ve won. You’re not even close._

“But Zoe, I really like you,” Samson said, “I want to spend time with you because I think it would be special.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Zoe scoffed, “Fuck, you gave me cocaine. Fuck you. Okay, I think I should take the sofa.” She tried to move but rolled into a ball on the bed. “I would rather get yelled at by Phillipa’s parents than open my legs in your proximity, Samson! I mean it!”

Faith’s expression was devoid of emotion, which was odd, because Samson thought she’d laugh or smirk at him by now.  

“That hurt my feelings, Zoe,” he said, in one of the most genuine tones he’d used all night.

“You don’t have feelings. Everything’s just funny to you!” Zoe yelled. “Is the fact you hurt my feelings funny? Let’s laugh. Zoe’s crying. Ha ha ha.”

She sobbed loudly into one of his pillows.

“Samson, I think you should sleep on the sofa,” Faith said, determined, “Zoe can cuddle with me.”

“But _I_ want cuddles!” Samson roared.

“NO!” Zoe screamed.

There was a bang on the door.

“FUCK OFF, CULLEN!” Samson shouted, filled with a rage he didn’t know he had.

At the same time Zoe jumped and squealed, “We’re going to get murdered!”

“Leave, Samson,” Faith said, “I will take care of her.”

Slowly, Samson moved away, with the care taken in trying to avoid waking a baby, “Zoe, I’m so sorry about this. It was just a mix up.”

“Mix up my butt. Go away,” Zoe sobbed, in some upset wilderness of her mind, “even if I forget about this, I’ll never sleep with you. If you don’t leave… this memory will be in my subconscious somewhere, always. The beer won’t erase it. Nothing will. Like, if you don’t leave now-”

“He’s leaving,” Faith assured the woman.

“Even in some other universe, another life or whatever, I never will!” Zoe shouted, “This isn’t like Doctor Who, where the Daleks just keep coming back! If you don’t go now, I’ll never speak to you aga-!”

“I’m leaving!” Samson shouted. 

* * *

  _What is all that racket? He better not have brought the prostitute home. I will make him do my laundry if he did._

Samson stormed out of his bedroom, looking exhausted and disgruntled.

Cullen stood in his dressing gown, arms crossed. “Good night. I’m not sure you realized but the sun isn’t up yet.”

“Go to hell, you sunlight loving prude,” Samson snarled, “We’re not all like you.”  

“I would love to go to bed, thank you very much, though I can’t sleep, because you’re too noisy.”

“I have girls over,” Samson said, “Your rules don’t count when there are girls over.”

“On the contrary, it’s why the rules are there in the first place,” Cullen said, “and did you say there is _more_ than one girl?”

“Yeah, there’s two.”

“Look –I don’t want to know where you found them- but where are they going to sleep?”

“Turns out they’re sleeping in my bed.”

“Where are _you_ going to sleep?”

“Eh. I can sneak into yours.”

“Me?” Cullen gasped, “No!”

“Shut up and get over it. It’s not like I’m going to be naked.”

“I don’t care. I like having personal space. You have a habit of destroying personal space, like how I have to clean up all your ruddy dishes. I am sorry, but they don’t belong in the shower.”

“I’m not talking about dishes now,” Samson retorted, “if you’re too much a homophobe to have me in your bed, then help me convince the girls to let me back in mine.”

“Why would you need to convince them?”

“They kicked me out.”

Cullen laughed. “…of your _own bed_?”

“Look, are you going to help me or not?”

“How did you get kicked out of _your_ bedroom?”

“I insinuated we all take our clothes off, and they got offended,” Samson said.

“Oh yes. That sounds about right. I don’t know why you get surprised that all these misfortunate outcomes happen to you anymore,” Cullen paced towards the door, “Perhaps I can convince one to stay with me. That would be fair – one girl per bed.”

“Yes, please,” Samson said.  

* * *

  _Which one would I pick to have with me? Dear oh dear. Stop it. They won’t even agree,_ Cullen thought.

“I apologize for interrupting, and for my flatmate’s atrocious behaviour,” he began, poking his head in the door, “Goodness, that light is terrible. It has come to my attention that Samson now lacks a place to sleep. Is there any way I can convince one of you to join me? My only intention is sleep, I assure you. Wait, _Zoe_?!”  

The woman looked distraught with teary, red eyes and smudged eyeliner, though it was her none the less. He hadn’t seen her since a Church social night months ago with Phillipa. The two weren’t close, although she was a friendly enough person. The thought of bringing her to snuggle next to him was more comforting than a stranger.

“What?” Samson gaped, and then to Cullen, “How do you know her?”

“He knows Phillipa,” Zoe said, keeping the description short, “and I’m fine here, but since Samson is being a stupid head, I will join you Cullen.”

_The world is small isn’t it? It truly is ridiculous. I wonder how Zoe is._

“Zoe, I am sorry –“ Samson began.

“The sorry isn’t going to make me change my mind about my plans for sleeping.”

“This was all bad organization on my part.”

In the chaos of waiting for the bickering to end, Cullen’s eyes turned to Faith. _Is she the sex worker? She looks a bit intimidating. Best she stays inside with Samson. Does Samson really pay her to kick him? Jesus, I’m too sleep deprived to be thinking. If she works at a pop up brothel, does she have to get a new job every six months? What a nightmare. Or perhaps she enjoys it. That can’t be a stable source of income. I suppose I will never know._

Faith caught Cullen’s eye, gave an acknowledging nod and an appreciative smile. It was the type of friendliness that made a person feel connected with the world, a tad invasive as pleasant as it was. That with the intense blue of her eyes, the heightened emotion was all too amiable and exciting, so he averted his gaze.

“I’m sure that’s all it was,” Zoe said briskly, “Hey you know, maybe I’ll forget all about this and in a few years I’ll make a move on you. Maybe I’ll forget all about you. I can start all over again.”

“Forgiveness right now would be better,” Samson said disgruntled.

“Goodnight, Samson,” Zoe struggled to stand up, though Faith helped her, and she walked out the room to Cullen.  

“Goodnight, you two,” Cullen said to inside the room, hoping he wouldn't have to ignore sex sounds through the walls. 

* * *

 Silence fell for what seemed like the first time all night, and Samson’s ears were ringing.

“What in the name of fuck was that?” Faith asked Samson.  

“I don’t know,” Samson sighed, “Maybe you should give me a swirlie. Then I’ll get an adrenaline rush so mental that I’ll figure out all the answers.”

Faith laughed, apparently delighted. “That is ridiculous, and you’re a fool if you think I will at this hour. Still, I apologize that your night did not go as planned. Zoe seems like a nice girl. It’s a shame your inability to communicate impedes you so much.”

“I can communicate with you,” Samson said with a hopeful smile.

“Indeed. Although perhaps that says something,” Faith mused with an inscrutable smile.

“Yeah,” Samson sat down on the side of the bed and untied his shoes. “I don’t know whether that is supposed to be good or bad.”

Faith removed her heels, jacket, undid the zipper of her dress and pulled it off. “It is one of life’s many mysteries, little man.”


End file.
